


You Go Too Slow

by Adenil



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Gluttony has Made Aziraphale Excellent at Eating Pussy, Cunnilingus, Excessive Amount of Orgasms, Eye Contact, M/M, PWP, Praise, Slow Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adenil/pseuds/Adenil
Summary: “Mm, wonderful. You’re doing wonderfully, my dear.”“Could you get on with it already?”Aziraphale chuckled low in his throat. He let the sound vibrate against Crowley’s soft belly. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”





	You Go Too Slow

Aziraphale much preferred to take things slow.

He pressed his lips to inhuman skin. The belly of a demon, quivering and quaking with desire, he found to be surprisingly soft. There was a smattering of hair the color of red wine and Aziraphale dipped his tongue into the pretend bellybutton. He drew a slow, wet line up, tasting bitter sulfur and salt. When he reached the heart he worked his way back down. Peppered kisses and laved at every inch of skin with his tongue. He found the shadowed indent of a hip bone and applied his mouth, sucked a pale bruise into the skin.

“Angel…”

Crowley was already shaking and Aziraphale had barely even begun. He kissed that hipbone again and looked up, up over the jutting planes of his demon’s body. Crowley’s glasses were askew, his hair staticy and mussed from where he had ripped his shirt off. Long, slender fingers grasped at the bedspread, and Aziraphale smiled against his skin.

“It’s quite alright for you to touch me.” 

Crowley sighed and his hands came up to tangle in Aziraphale’s hair, encouraging hands, hands with seeking fingers and short, smooth nails that trailed most deliciously over the back of Aziraphale’s neck and incited shivers of delight.

“Mm, wonderful. You’re doing wonderfully, my dear.”

“Could you get on with it already?”

Aziraphale chuckled low in his throat. He let the sound vibrate against Crowley’s soft belly. “No. No, I don’t think I will.”

“C’mon.” Crowley’s hands nudged at his head. “Just a bit lower.”

“I find that I am quite content where I am, thank you.” To demonstrate, he kissed Crowley’s belly again. Then, fascinated by the pretend bellybutton, he dipped his tongue into the little divot and wiggled.

“Ah!” Crowley jerked and tried to shy away, his body squirming with suppressed laughter. “Knock that off!”

Intrigued, Aziraphale wiggled his tongue again. Another shudder of laughter rolled through Crowley. The hands in his hair clenched and pulled, and Aziraphale hummed in delight.

He stopped only when Crowley’s writhing threatened to tumble them both off the bed. To atone for his misdeeds he applied his mouth to Crowley’s other hipbone and suckled sweetly, apologetically, raising his gaze to meet Crowley’s. He knew with mischievous certainty that Crowley couldn’t stay mad at him when fixed with blue, innocent eyes.

Indeed, Crowley relaxed incrementally back into the bed. His sunglasses were still askew, hanging ridiculously at an angle and exposing one full eye but not the other. There was a crinkle to his brow—a mixture of confusion and desire that quite indicated Aziraphale was doing a splendid job.

Aziraphale let his thumbs slip under the waistband of Crowley’s sinfully tight trousers. The belt was cinched snug against his narrow hips. The buckle itself was a snake that eyed Aziraphale dubiously, as if uncertain about having someone else intruding in its domain. Aziraphale kissed the head of the snake and listened to Crowley’s hitched gasp.

Time stretched, slowed. He left his thumbs where they were, still and sure, and began to kiss Crowley’s stomach again, began to map skin and pleasure. Crowley’s hands were insistent, grabby. They pushed at Aziraphale’s shoulders, grabbed his ears, tugged at his hair before smoothing it again, petted him, grasped him, shoved him, directed him. Aziraphale stoutly refused to be directed. He stayed right where he was as Crowley slowly lost his mind beneath angelic kisses.

“Angel, c-can you just, just _a bit_ , j-just lower…Can you?”

“Do be patient, my dear,” Aziraphale murmured. He sucked another bruise above Crowley’s hip bone. There were a fair baker’s dozen of them now, thirteen little layered shadows that told, in no uncertain terms, precisely to whom Crowley belonged. “I am quite busy worshiping you.”

A sound the likes of which Aziraphale had never heard before rent its way from Crowley’s throat. “Angel!”

“Hmm? Oh, alright.” He tsked and began working his way down, and after a few minutes he reached the buckle of Crowley’s belt.

He undid it with both hands. The sound of soft, supple snake skin was pleasing. He opened the belt and applied his sure hands to the buttons, following his seeking fingers with his mouth.

“Now, what do you have for me?”

“I-I panicked.” Crowley whimpered—a truly marvelous sound—and turned his head, sending his glasses tumbling to the floor.

“Whatever do you mean?” Aziraphale had worked Crowley’s trousers open now and was tugging at the fabric of his pants.

“Wasn’t sure what sort of effort to make,” Crowley managed. “But I figured if the rest of the night was going to be like this I needed something that could withstand…prolonged attention.”

“Quite right.” Aziraphale preferred Crowley without his glasses, but with his eyes shut tight it was still rather impossible to admire that golden gaze. “Brilliant thinking, my dear.”

He was getting a bit eager now, and he slipped his hands round back, under Crowley’s trousers so he could pull them down and see what he was working with.

“Oh, yes,” he breathed. “This should do nicely.”

There between Crowley’s legs a fine and splendid effort greeted him. A vulva, a bit odd and lanky just as Crowley was in his entirety. Just above it the mons crested like a rolling hill, the only part of Crowley that wasn’t terrible bony. A fantastic place to kiss, and so Aziraphale did so. Kissed Crowley’s skin and his curled hair, let his fingers trail down, feather light, over Crowley’s lips. They parted for him sweetly, inside already moist and wet, ready for Aziraphale to explore.

He found the clitoris with his forefinger. Traced a circle round it, and then another because it made Crowley squirm delightfully. He let his finger glide down to Crowley’s first opening and pushed, just a bit, just up to the first knuckle to feel how warm and soft Crowley was inside, and then he withdrew again.

“G—Just—Angel, _come on_. Are you trying to drive me mad?”

“Not at all.” He frowned—or rather, pouted—and withdrew his hands entirely.

“Aziraphale!”

“Oh, do relax. I’m merely helping you out of these trousers.”

Crowley’s death grip on his hair slackened just enough for Aziraphale to sit up. He tugged Crowley’s trousers down, struggled a bit around the ankles, and finally managed to slip them off. They landed on the floor neatly folded and the pants landed on top, also folded.

“Now,” Aziraphale said, sliding one hand under Crowley’s knee to lift and bend his leg, pressing his other palm to Crowley’s smooth inner thigh. “Where was I?”

He leaned in, let his tongue flicker out, and _licked_.

“Ah! Angel!”

Crowley’s reactions were truly charming. His body lifted up to Aziraphale’s mouth, one hand clenching at Aziraphale’s hair and the other fisting a handful of Aziraphale’s jacket. For the moment Aziraphale didn’t comment on the wrinkles that would inevitably result. He merely gave in to his desires.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured between long, slow, steady licks. “Oh, my dear. You taste _wonderful_.”

“Nn? Ah? It-I— _ah_!”

“Mm, I couldn’t agree more.”

He slipped his tongue into Crowley’s smooth, pink opening, let his nose press against Crowley’s clitoris. He ate him out slowly, with luxurious passion, making all the noises he usually saved for a particularly good slice of early-morning coffee cake.

Crowley was messy and sloppy, and not just between the legs. His limbs twitched, alternating between being thrown wide and being wrapped around Aziraphale’s head. His body undulated. His mouth murmured, whispered, tempted—but all without words. He seemed beyond any language. Aziraphale delighted in how easily Crowley fell to pieces beneath him.

He tucked his hands under Crowley’s bottom and lifted him into a better angle. Yes, splendid. Now he could taste the sweet honey of Crowley’s ecstasy. Now he could lick from top to bottom and back again in one long, un-ending motion. Now he could twist his tongue around Crowley’s stiff, needy clitoris. Now he could dive into Crowley’s body with his tongue and pull out frantic moans. Now he could take his time. Now he could positively consume his beloved.

“Mm…I…A-Angel, I…”

Crowley had started up a sweet sound, a deep reverberation, and now it was swelling, rising, cresting. Aziraphale did not as much as pause as Crowley began to shiver, then shake, his body trembling as his legs came together, thighs tightening around Aziraphale’s ears. Crowley arched. His mouth opened, lewd. A shout.

There was a bit more fluid, then. And Crowley’s little clitoris was twitching so pleasantly that Aziraphale found it impossible _not_ to wrap his lips around it and begin to suck.

“Nn…Azi-Azir—Angel, ‘s…much.”

“Hmm?”

“So…much…”

“Hm.”

Now that he had gotten a taste of Crowley’s orgasm he wondered how he had ever gone without. It was delectable. Delicious. He felt quite suddenly ravenous and he surrendered to the feeling by slipping his tongue into Crowley’s opening again. The action prompted another moan from his dear demon, and a conciliatory sigh of defeat. Aziraphale curled his tongue inside Crowley half-apologetically and then lifted himself up to tongue his clitoris again.

Aziraphale had expected—hoped?—that the second orgasm would not taste as delightful as the first. The perhaps with time and exposure he would grow used to it, become able to pull away. But that was not to be. The sounds, the scents, the _feelings_ did not wane. He wanted Crowley with a desperation that could not even be tempered by the actual having of Crowley. He suckled at Crowley’s soft, wet lips, too far gone and willing to go further.

It became blurry, the line between pleasuring himself and pleasuring Crowley. He quite lost track of time. Crowley’s legs were thrown over his shoulders, ankles loosely crossed at his back, and Crowley’s hands had fallen from his head to lie limply twitching on the bedspread when he came back to himself.

It was like swimming upward in a dark pool. His head barely crested the water and he looked up. Crowley’s neck was loose, languid, his chin tipped up, his mouth partly open and his lips wet and bitten. His eyes were softly closed. His chest rose and fell with panting breaths, the only sign of excitement still noticeable in the exhausted demon.

Outside it was still light. Only, no. That couldn’t be. It had been dusk when Crowley reached out and touched his hand that first time, dusk when Crowley lifted the hem of his shirt, dusk when he had asked, _This alright, Angel_? and Aziraphale had fallen upon him.

Outside it had _become light again_.

Aziraphale rested a finger at Crowley’s opening. Slowly, he pushed inside.

A shiver ran through Crowley. “…’lease…”

“Speak up, my dear,” he murmured against Crowley’s skin.

“Please…Angel…”

Aziraphale understood what Crowley was asking, but he also felt that the request was so vague that he could feign reasonable confusion and continue to delay a bit longer. He kissed the space just above where his finger disappeared into Crowley’s body. “Like this?”

“Nn—Angel!”

“Shh, my dear. Quiet, quiet.” He rewarded Crowley’s indomitable patience with another finger. “Nearly there.”

“Already…been there.”

Aziraphale chuckled and kissed Crowley again. This was becoming a bit of an addiction, he was afraid. Truthfully Crowley was so soft and open for him that he did not need to use any fingers at all. It was merely that he wanted to feel all the smooth, silken skin inside, press against the slick pouring from Crowley’s body, twist his fingers just-so, beckoning forward another weak and shuddering orgasm from his beloved.

He bent his fingers, searching, and found an angle that made Crowley’s back arch and his eyelashes flutter prettily. Aziraphale stroked and soothed and murmured, dipped his tongue in and between his two fingers for another quick taste, pulled back and kissed that hooded clitoris, sighed.

Gently, he withdrew his fingers. He swiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and Crowley made an odd sound.

“Quite alright, my dear?”

“Aziraphale…”

He seemed too far distant to say much more. His eyes were blown twice over. The pupils, yes, which were wide and black like dark pools. But also the yellow had expanded at the edges as Crowley had gone so far past losing control that he’d come out the other side. That full and beautiful yellow that Aziraphale had not seen much of since their first brief conversation at the wall.

“Oh, Crowley. You’re beautiful.”

His resistance when it came to Crowley was already under tremendous strain, and so he did not fight the urge to crawl his way up Crowley’s long and narrow frame and press their lips together. The kisses were splendid. There had been a few before, hurried and demanding as Crowley attempted to communicate six millennia of yearning in a single human act. But this kiss was slow. Crowley was already spent. Could do little else but lie beneath Aziraphale and submit to his seeking mouth.

Aziraphale found he quite enjoyed Crowley being _giving_ for once.

Crowley was naked beneath him, all soft skin and shimmering arousal. Aziraphale was still completely dressed and so he reached down to thumb open the button of his trousers. He thought only a moment about what effort to put forth and then his own erection slid heavy and hot and dry across his palm.

“You’ve been so patient,” Aziraphale murmured against Crowley’s lips, down his chin, at the soft juncture of his jaw. “So patient and sweet and _good_ for me, dear Crowley.”

“A-Angel…”

“Shh, don’t fret.” He found Crowley’s opening, still so wet and warm and soft, and let the head of his erection rest there. His teeth found Crowley’s fluttering pulse point and he nibbled a bit, thinking that perhaps he could leave another layer of bruises there. But no, that would be cruel. Crowley had waited long enough for him. “You’ve been so good, so wonderfully good to let me sample the delectable fruits of your body that I simply must reward you. Would you like that?”

“I-I…Aziraphale…”

He pulled back and saw that Crowley had closed his eyes tightly. Such a shame. “Look at me, dear.”

“I-I don’t—I’m not—”

“Shush now, darling. You’re so beautiful. Will you please look at me?”

Crowley held very still, his mouth a sour moue, and then he nodded.

He opened his eyes slowly, as if the sun were a bit too bright. Those beautiful yellow eyes looked up at Aziraphale with such openness, such want, such tenderness, such _need_ that Aziraphale nearly fell to pieces as well. He managed to keep a hold of himself only because he was well practiced at seeing such love in those eyes, although usually the intensity was tempered by dark glasses.

“Wonderful. Thank you. Now, tell me: would you like me to reward your patience?”

“Y-yes.”

“Splendid. I would very much like that, too.”

Sliding inside was delightfully easy. He kept his gaze locked on Crowley’s eyes and watched every wave of pleasure roll over his dear, dear Crowley. Yellow eyes rolled back, lashes fluttered, thin pink lips parted, his neck arched, and then Aziraphale was seated inside a place that seemed perfectly made with him in mind.

Some part of him—a strong part—wanted to simply remain linked with Crowley like this for the rest of eternity. A different part, the part most similar to human desire which had arisen along with his effort, demanded he move _now_ , please, and enough of the dallying about. And so he moved.

He slipped out, pushed back in. Crowley was velvet-soft inside, inner walls hugging and tugging, slick with arousal that made each thrust smooth as silk. He was so splendidly open that Aziraphale could hardly breathe. Such a loose and trusting body, surrendered just for him.

Aziraphale was surprised when Crowley mustered the energy to lift his long, gangly arms. They wrapped around the back of Aziraphale’s neck and drew him in for more gentle, sweet kisses.

An odd sort of warmth had begun to build low in Aziraphale’s stomach. A diffuse heat. A gentle heat. He wrapped his arms beneath Crowley’s body and held him close, as close as possible, not caring at all that it ruined the angle and pushed his own release just a bit further off. But still it slithered up to him as he held Crowley and fucked him slow and tender, as if they had all the time in the world.

When he came it was a surprise. A sharp white pleasure blossomed behind his eyes and there was even more fluid, but that was secondary to the sudden intensity of feeling. He thrust inside once more, and again, and then held there as the ecstasy crested and then waned.

They were a tangled mess. Aziraphale wasn’t sure where angel stopped and demon began, nor did he care to know. Distantly, with faint disappointment, he noted that with that one, singular orgasm his body was now sated. That simply wouldn’t do. In the future he would have to manifest a vulva, as Crowley had, so that they could surrender to ecstasies together. Perhaps with legs tangled and crossed, lips pressed together…

“Angel, you’re squashing me.”

“Oh, terribly sorry.”

He disentangled himself and did away with his sex with a wave of his hand. Crowley kept his for the moment, apparently too exhausted to even notice. Aziraphale curled up against him and Crowley allowed this with an air of begrudging acceptance.

Aziraphale rested his hand on Crowley’s chest and traced little apologetic circles with his thumb. “I do hope that was alright,” he started, and then thought that was a stupid thing to say. “I-I mean, it was quite alright for me, and it did seem to be splendid for you, and _oh_ you were so _beautiful_ when you came for me—”

“Angel!”

“Yes, dear?”

“Shut up. I’m basking here.”

“Hm, yes. Very well then.”

He cuddled in and basked as well, since Crowley was having such a good time of it. It was quite pleasant. Distantly, though, he still felt a bit bad. He lasted a few more minutes before speaking up again.

“Perhaps tomorrow we can try it your way. The way you started trying it tonight, I mean. Very fast and-and grabby.”

Crowley laughed thickly, and coughed, and then kept laughing for such a long time that Aziraphale hoisted himself up so he could glare down at him.

“Really,” he muttered. “You could show a _little_ appreciation.”

“Angel…That’s not why I’m laughing.” Crowley wiped a tear from his eye and then lifted his hand to Aziraphale’s curls. Aziraphale allowed himself to be tugged in for a kiss. When they pulled apart Crowley had a dopey, sated smile on his face.

“Then why?” Aziraphale asked.

“Because if you think I’ll have energy for anything _tomorrow_ you’re mad. I’ll need at least a week of recovery.”

“A week!” No, no that wouldn’t do at all. “That’s far too long. Three days.”

“Three—!” Crowley paused. He shut his mouth with a click and looked up at Aziraphale as if he’d done something both very stupid and very endearing. Aziraphale recognized the look; it was very nostalgic for him. “…Alright. Three days.”

"Or perhaps two..."

"Aziraphale," he said warningly.

“Yes, yes, three days. Very well then.”

Aziraphale punched at the pillow and settled himself back against Crowley’s side. He tried to pull the blanket over them but Crowley was mostly laying on it and seemed impossible to move, the great oaf, and so they wound up only partly covered. Still, it was pleasant, and if Aziraphale was being honest it _may_ have been the culmination of every hope and dream he’d had over the past six thousand years. Not that he planned to say that out loud. It would be embarrassing. Frightfully embarrassing.

Crowley shifted and placed a kiss atop Aziraphale’s head, chuckling once more to himself. Aziraphale harrumphed and closed his eyes and told himself he was going to stay awake as Crowley slowly, gently, sweetly drifted off to sleep, and he followed, and together they slept the day away.


End file.
